


The Present Moment is the Best Place to Be

by Ellenar_Ride



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bodyswap, Echolocation Warriors, Gen, Humor, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), according to the lu discord, achey Legend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellenar_Ride/pseuds/Ellenar_Ride
Summary: When the Links wake up, something is wrong. Not something big, not a disaster. Just a little bit off.
Comments: 57
Kudos: 431





	1. Wake Up, Link

When Hyrule wakes up, something feels wrong. Not something big—not monsters in the night or a prankfest gone wrong. Just a little bit off.

He sits up, stretches—and that’s odd. His hands hit… fur? He doesn’t wear fur. Who wears fur? Maybe Wolfie is here? He rubs his eyes so he can look clearly—or at least he tries to. The path his muscles want to follow isn’t the same path his brain wants to follow, and he ends up smacking himself in the jaw. _Hopefully no-one else saw that._ It’s an ingrained reflex to run a finger along his skin where he hit, checking briefly for blood. None. Good.

Alright, so what’s going on? Starting to wake up now, he looks around. No Wolfie in sight, just his sleeping companions, but the ground looks a little… farther away than usual?

He runs his hand through his hair, trying to think—and freezes as his brain finally processes the message his nerves have been trying to deliver. _That is not his hair._ The texture is all wrong. _That is not his hand._ His hands are slimmer, his fingers longer—they look _delicate,_ the others like to say, even though they’re just as strong as any other pair of hands here.

 _Alright. Stop and think._ He tries to parse the situation, but his mind is stuck in a loop of _that is not his hair, that is not his hand, ~~that is not his blood.~~ _

This is not his body.

… So, whose is it?

His ~~not his, his, don’t think about it~~ hands shake as he holds them in front of his face, searching for clues. It’s a shame he can’t see his face. Wait! That’s it! They camped near a pond last night ~~Wild insisted, where is Wild,~~ he can use that to check his reflection. A little calmer now with a concrete plan of action in place, he stands up. He’s wobbly, since he keeps underestimating how long his limbs are and over-extending, but he manages to keep his feet. Before he leaves camp, he looks around again, making sure everyone is accounted for—and he sees himself.

He hadn’t looked hard enough before, he’d just seen eight figures through sleep-blurred eyes, but there, across the camp, is his own body. His blood ~~not his blood and that’s the problem~~ runs cold. He looks around again and counts them. Eight figures. Around again. Time, Sky, Wild, Wind, Warriors, Legend, Four, and himself. No Twilight. Where is Twilight?

It hits him all at once— _Twilight wears fur._

When Warriors wakes up, something feels wrong. Oh, not something significant—nothing like an enemy attack in the early hours of the morning. Not even something like the Smidge sneaking across the room with one of those _masks._ Just a little bit off.

He stretches, relishing in the opportunity to wake up slowly, but… his reach feels too short? He chalks it up to the trickery of a sleep-clouded mind and decides to make the best of a quiet morning with a book—he’s been meaning to finish that romance he picked up three worlds back for a while now, but there’s never been enough time. _Never enough Time to keep the chaos in check,_ he thinks to himself, entirely too amused by his own wit.

Except… he doesn’t know where his bag is. It’s not under his head, and he can’t sense it anywhere nearby—did Legend hide it again? Warriors wouldn’t put it past him. But then he realizes it’s not just his bag; he can’t sense _anything._ He has absolutely no idea what’s around him, except that he can feel the grass under his hands. A little bit of adrenaline pouring into his blood, he opens his eyes—minimal input is better than no input, after all.

What he expects is a general sense of brightness and some vague blobs of color. _Maybe_ a rough shape if he’s lucky and there’s enough contrast. What he _gets_ is an overwhelming, incomprehensible mess of _colors_ and _shapes_ and _lines,_ so startling and unexpected he has to shut his eyes again with a tiny whine. He covers his face with his hands to keep from accidentally opening his eyes a second time. Across the camp there’s a rustle of cloth. Warriors focuses on that, taking solace in the familiar sound. At least he knows what _that_ is.

“Wind?” Twilight calls. “Are you alright?”

He sounds a little hoarse. Is _he_ alright?

“Wind?” Twilight asks again.

Why isn’t Wind answering? Is he still asleep? Maybe he’s having a nightmare—that would explain why Twilight is worried. There are footsteps, then—Twilight making his way across camp to check on Wind? Probably. They’re unsteady, though, like a toddler’s or a drunk’s. That doesn’t make sense. Twi doesn’t drink. Maybe he’s just tired or upset. Warriors should really check on him, but he doesn’t want to chance opening his eyes again right now. Then Twi’s hand is on his shoulder. Have his hands always been that big? And why is he over here if he’s checking on Wind?

“Wind.” Twi’s voice is sharper now, hardening into alarm. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Is Twi… talking to _him?_ But why is he calling him Wind? “Twi?” he asks, and it’s Wind’s voice that comes out of his mouth, small and unsure and a little bit frightened.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“No,” Twi says, “I’m Hyrule. Who are you?”

When Legend wakes up, something feels wrong. Not something big, like sand under his back or a voice in his head. Just a little bit off.

He doesn’t even need to stretch to realize it. Doesn’t even need to breathe. All he needs to do is exist. _Exist,_ and not _hurt._

His knees don’t ache. His shoulders don’t present their complaints re: overdoing everything the day before in a blistering diatribe (that is, thankfully, not usually composed of _literal_ blisters). His spine appears perfectly content with how he laid himself down the night before. The muscles of his calves do not jump and quiver in preparation to cramp and send him scrambling to his feet. He doesn’t _hurt._

Something is wrong. Something is _wrong,_ this doesn’t just happen. ~~People like him don’t get miracles.~~

For a moment, he wonders if he is still alive. But there is no sand under his back, so there is more road ahead of him. He takes a breath and steels himself for whatever may lie ahead and opens his eyes. And sees _nothing._

Or, not nothing. Not quite. But nothing he can make sense of. That blur of something pale is the sky, he thinks, since he’s lying on his back. Those hints of something dark around the edges might be trees. He gets his arms under him and shoves himself upright, and the world fails to miraculously rearrange itself into something with meaning. ~~Of course it does. Didn’t he already say people like him don’t get miracles?~~

He rubs his knee almost idly, a habit to soothe the ache that he does not need but his hand carries out regardless, and stops as he realizes he can track the motion of his hand. Not with his eyes—he can’t see his hand or his knee at all, much less in enough detail to track—but _somehow._ He scowls (oh look, his jaw doesn’t hurt, how nice) and moves his hand again. The motion remains predictable, he can still track it. _Unerringly,_ in fact. Or at least unhesitantly. He can’t exactly check his accuracy.

This bears further investigation. But first—where is he and what happened to the others? Because he doesn’t believe they would leave him here alone. ~~Unless they had no choice.~~ But this isn’t his body, that much is clear—so what’s to say they don’t think he’s still with them right now? Can they tell the difference? Can they distinguish between a boy and his reflection? Not that _Legend_ could at the moment, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You know, if Wars could see you right now, he’d tell you to quit frowning. You’ll give him wrinkles.”

Legend whips around so fast he loses his balance and falls over trying to face the voice. _That was Twilight!_ (Somewhere in the background, someone cries _“Is he frowning with my face? Make him stop!”_ Legend pays it no mind.)

“Okay, look, something weird is happening. I’m Hyrule, not Twilight, and I don’t know who you are but I know you’re not Warriors because he’s sitting here with me in Wind’s body.”

What.

Legend has seen a _lot_ of weird things, but this one tops the list—even if he can’t actually see any of it. “What happened?”

There’s a rustle of cloth, and based on his knowledge of Hyrule’s body language, Legend guesses he just shrugged. “No idea. We’ve definitely swapped bodies, though. Maybe—”

Legend cuts him off as something more important occurs to him. “Warriors. Why can’t I _see?”_

Warriors laughs (Wind’s too-high nervous giggle) and turns away fast enough Legend can make out the motion. “Science?” he offers in an uncertain voice.

What.

When Four wakes up, something feels wrong. Not something major—wait. Maybe it is. _Why is his head quiet._ His head is _never_ this quiet. No-one is talking. Why is no-one talking. Something is wrong. Something _important_ is wrong. He pokes at the spot in the back of his mind where his Colors usually rest—maybe he’s just the first one up today, as rare as that is? _Please let that be the case._

Nothing.

No response. He can’t even feel them sleeping.

_Where are they._

He can only assume something horrible has happened. Can only assume he’s not somewhere safe. He flails for the hilt of his sword and it’s nowhere in reach. Rolls to his feet, swings his head around to check for threats in every direction. On some level of awareness, he notices there are people sleeping (familiar people) and people sitting in a huddle (confused people), but it doesn’t quite reach conscious thought. There’s hair in his face and he knows that’s _wrong,_ but he can’t say why. He can’t see a way out, so he drops into a defensive crouch. Let them come, then.

But no-one moves.

There’s a long moment of quiet, and that _should_ make him even more tense—stealth is not exactly his forte. But he’s not _hidden._ The people can see him, they’re looking at him (near him? One of them is covering their eyes and another is turned part-way to the side). They know he’s there. But they’re not moving. Then, slowly, the one who’s properly looking at him sits up. His movements are uncoordinated—he won’t be much of a threat if he attacks, but Four is still unarmed.

“Are you alright?”

Something about that voice cuts through the haze in his brain. Something about that voice dissipates the tension building in his shoulders. Something about that voice is _safe._ The longer everything is still, the more he begins to truly wake up, fog clearing from his mind. He shakes his head (and something about that is wrong, but he can’t tell what), rubs his eyes with one trembling hand, and looks again.

“Twilight?”

“No, I’m Hyrule,” he says. His voice is steady where his body is not—he sounds like he’s said this before. Maybe _many_ times before. “Who are you? Because that’s my body you’re wearing.”

When Twilight wakes up, something feels wrong. Not something big, like shattering glass or howling on the wind. Just a little bit off.

People are talking. Did the others wake up early? … Did they let him _sleep in?_ That’s actually kind of sweet of them. He’s been more tired than usual lately. They’re talking very close, though, so appreciation is starting to bleed into irritation. If they don’t stop soon, he’ll have to get up and see what’s going on, and he really doesn’t want to. He’d like to continue sleeping if at all possible—he’s perfectly cozy right now.

_Hey, I think he’s waking up!_

_We can all tell he’s waking up, Red, you don’t need to say it._

_Oh, be nice! What’s he ever done to you, anyway?_

_His voice is annoying._

_You think **everyone’s** voice is annoying, that doesn’t count. Green, tell him it doesn’t count!_

There’s a sigh, and a third voice joins in. _Leave him alone, Blue, he’s going to have enough of a headache as it is without us harping on in his ear._

Twilight knows those voices. Sort of? They’re familiar, at least. They remind him of Four.

_Of course we remind you of Four, we remind **everyone** of Four!_

_Blue!_

_Alright, fine, I’m out!_

Twilight can feel the voice recede. It’s almost like pressure lifting off a specific section of his skull.

_Anyway, I’m Red! You’re Twilight, Right?_

The voice knows his name. How does the voice know his name?!

_Don’t be silly, of course I know your name! We’ve been here the whole time; it would be **super** rude to not pay enough attention to know everyone’s name!_

We. WE?!

_Yup! There’s four of us! Or us of Four, I guess. Sorry, that’s not important. Anyway, four of us! Like I said, I’m Red. The grump from earlier is Blue, and the other one you heard is Green! Vio’s here too but he’s not big on talking, so you might not hear from him for a while._

Hesitantly, Twilight tries to respond the same way he voices have been speaking. _R **e** d? _

It doesn’t quite work, but Red gushes anyway. _Wow, you already figured out how to talk to us directly? It took us a while to figure that out! Maybe we can—_

Twilight interrupts, a little firmer this time. _Red._

_Oh, sorry, I got distracted again. Did you need something?_

_You said here. Where is here?_

_Four’s head! Or his brain, I guess? Definitely his body! Our body? Sorry, that’s why Blue’s being so grumpy, he won’t say it but he’s uncomfortable without Four here._

When Wind wakes up, something feels wrong. Not, like, _gross_ wrong—not _where is Aryll_ or _Tetra’s on the ghost ship_ wrong. Not even _oops I walked into a monster camp on my own_ wrong. Just a little off.

At first, he thinks it’s just sleepy brain insisting he should be on a proper ship instead of solid ground, but the longer he thinks about it the more he begins to realize that’s not it. He can’t say exactly what it is until he takes a breath—a deep, sleepy breath—and his nerves wake up.

Everything _aches._

His first thought is, _I have Grandma’s hands,_ because his hands _do_ really hurt, and he’s heard Grandma complaining about the joints in her hands when she thinks he’s asleep. Then he realizes that’s a dumb thought and promptly pretends he never thought it in the first place. Next, he notices his spine. It feels like the night he fell asleep in a chair, all hunched up, and his back hurt _all day._ Then his shoulders, which hurt like right after he started learning to use a sword, and his elbows, which hurt like he’s been carrying crates for Tetra all day, and his knees, which hurt like he’s been doing all of the above with bad form.

His muscles aren’t any better—he’s just _sore,_ everywhere. He shifts a little, trying to relieve the pressure on his spine, and gasps as the rest of him protests. Across the camp, someone moves. _Good!_ This can’t be natural, and as much as the thought stings his pride, he could use some help!

“Oh boy,” someone says from the other side of the makeshift firepit in the center of camp. It sounds like Warriors. “Hey, who’s awake over there?”

Wind doesn’t understand. Why does he need to ask?

“Come on, all I can see is smudges right now, who’s up?” Wars asks again, after a moment has passed, and a spike of alarm races through Wind’s chest. Is _everyone_ hurt?

“Wind,” he manages to say, and Warriors—who had been in the middle of calling out again—falls abruptly silent.

“No,” Warriors says, flat and cold and _empty,_ and Wind doesn’t understand but there’s no time for understanding anyway because the older Link starts talking again. “’Rule, there’s a pink potion in my bag, get it and give it to him.”

Wind might be in pain, but that’s hardly a first and he’s _sick_ of not knowing what’s going on so he leverages himself up to sit. Twilight is walking across the camp—hadn’t Warriors said Hyrule? But he also said “my bag” and Twi is going thought _Legend’s_ bag at the moment. Legend’s bag which is right next to Wind’s knee. He turns to look at Warriors and sees himself, sitting and covering his eyes with his hands.

“This isn’t my body, is it?” he asks. Anything to have something else to focus on.

Twi pauses where he’s digging through Legend’s bag, just for a moment. “Clever kid,” he says with a laugh that isn’t Twilight’s laugh.

“You’re Hyrule,” Wind says as the person in Twi’s body hands him an open potion. It smells disgusting and tastes worse, but he drinks the whole thing in one gulp and in a few minutes the worst of the aches subside.

“That’s right,” Hyrule says, smiling his own smile with Twi’s face.

“He’s Legend,” here he points to Warriors, who had spoken, who had said “my bag”. “And he’s Warriors?” This time it’s a question, pointing towards his own body, but Legend said he couldn’t see and whoever is in his body is covering up his perfectly functional eyes, so it seems like a reasonable guess.

“Well done,” Hyrule says, “you got everything right.”

And those, as it turns out, are the exact words Wind needs to hear right this moment. Everything is alright now. They’ll figure it out. They’ll get it right. They always do.

When Time wakes up, something feels wrong. Not something impossible—not time flowing in reverse or the moon leering down from the sky. Just a little off.

When he wakes up a little bit more, his thought process goes something like this: _Hmm. This isn’t my body. … Well, what else is new. I wonder what chaos the boys have gotten into this morning._ After a moment, one more quiet thought joins the train: _…. at least I have a face this time._

Time doesn’t think much of the situation, just stretching a little (hmm. it's nice to have joints that work properly) and sitting up. He opens both eyes (this body’s muscle memory insists it has two working eyes) and promptly closes the right one. The extra vision is irritating.

Someone across the camp groans. It sounds like Warriors. _(That’s a little rude,_ he thinks.)

“Alright, who’s up now? Can we handle one crisis at a time, please?”

Ah. The voice sounds like Warriors, but the words sound like Legend. It’s not just him then, is it? … This might get messy.

“I forgot you two can’t _see,”_ whoever is in Legend’s body says. He doesn’t sound terribly composed—is he alright? “He’s obviously Time, _he closed his right eye.”_

That _is_ a bit of a giveaway, isn’t it? He opens his eye for a moment, just to stare at the person in Legend’s body for giving him away, but closes it again soon after. The disorientation isn’t worth it.

“Joy,” Probably-Legend groans. “Whose body is he in?”

“Sky’s”, the-Person-in-Twilight’s-Body says. (He really should figure out who everyone is. It would make this whole affair simpler.)

Legend groans again.

“Alright,” Time says, and expertly ignores how different his voice sounds. (At least it’s not the chittering voice of a Deku Scrub.) “Does anyone know how this might have happened?”

At least the boys seem to be taking the matter calmly enough. Although…

“Four?” he asks, interrupting the-Person-in-Twilight’s-Body as he starts explaining that they have no ideas whatsoever, and the-Person-in-Hyrule’s-Body turns to face him.

“Yes?”

“Go poke whoever is in your body, he’s awake.”

When Wild wakes up, something feels wrong. He’ll tell you a secret: it’s many things. All of them are Big and Important and Alarming.

First: he cannot feel the scars in the back of his throat, and there is no taste of honey-sweet magic pooling in his mouth. Second: there is no pull on his feet, no urge to walk unceasing until he finds darkness to eradicate. Third: there is no cold light inside his bones, pressing down on his mind and soul and compressing him until they both fit inside his skin. These are what he notices first. The physical differences come later.

The physical differences come later, but they still come. He knows without moving that he is too big, too heavy, to be himself, even if all else were equal. He feels almost _alarmingly tall,_ and in combination with the warm magic radiating from the right side of his face he knows, somehow, he is in Time’s body.

How, is the question. Why, is another. Or maybe they’re the same question, a question in two parts with a tapestry of threads for an answer.

A moment later, he has an unsettling thought— _is_ he in Time’s body? Or is he in Grandfather’s? It’s more or less the same, but one will be more unpleasant for all parties involved than the other. No, he decides, he _is_ in Time’s body. Not only would Grandmother not allow for anything to interfere with her husband’s soul, he is too warm to be in the form of a shade.

So. Time’s body. Why and How are still questions that need answering, but they won’t _get_ answered if he doesn’t get up. So he rolls to a sit and meets three startled gazes, one curious one, and two unseeing ones. (He privately takes a moment to mourn that even Time’s body is more flexible than his own.)

“What happened and who is in my body?”

A moment later her realizes he’s opened both eyes by habit and closes the right. Time keeps it closed for a reason, so who is Wild to argue?

“You’re Wild, right?” the person in Legend’s body asks.

“Yup, that’s me,” he answers with a lazy grin. “Who’s who? But also, who’s in my body?”

Wild tries to memorize the list. He doesn’t want to call anyone by the wrong name. But he also has bigger priorities at the moment, so only half of his mind is dedicated to the task. He gets up (it takes two tries because he underestimates how much force it takes to remove Time’s heavier body from the ground), and he walks over to his own sleeping body (he almost trips because his limbs are too long), and he reaches down and shakes its shoulder (he misses once because he misjudges the distance between them).

“Time to wake up, Sky.”

When Sky wakes up, it’s to a hand on his shoulder and Farore’s words carved into his bones and the cold light of Courage under his skin. But it’s also to the taste of honey on his tongue and a gentle voice calling him to reality.

“Breathe, Sky.”

So he does, and it’s _wrong,_ this is not what breathing is supposed to be _like._ He breathes out, and in again. It’s not a _bad_ wrong. Just… _incorrect._

“Open your eyes, Sky.”

So he does, and he sees a face he knows.

“Time?”

Time laughs, and it is not Time’s laugh. “Not quite. We all got shuffled—I’m Wild.”

That… makes more sense than It should, probably, and also explains why he feels so wrong.

“You’re in my body. Sorry, I know it’s not fun. I had a lot of trouble when I was younger, before I figured out how to work around everything—you’re probably in the same spot. Just stay close and you’ll be fine.”

If Wild is trying to be reassuring, it isn’t working. Work around what? His train of thought is interrupted as Wild grabs his hand (and isn’t that odd, the combination of Time’s hand and Wild’s grip) and pulls him up until he’s sitting. Sky rubs his eyes, yawns, and stares back at eight other confused Links.

“Alright, circle up—” and is that what his voice sounds like to other people? “—we need to have a conversation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, guys, it's ch. 1 of bodyswap shenanigans. I have no excuses for the angst, it's a gift. From the LU discord live write.
> 
> Wild's section references back to _Child of the Sea._
> 
> (shenanigans should show up properly next chapter. i should know better than to introspect into a story by now, that's always angst.)
> 
> ~~I _will_ write more Mending Links, I promise, but _ideas_~~


	2. Walking Lessons with the Chain

The problems start when they try to follow that instruction. Circle up? When they can’t even _walk_ properly? _This isn’t going to end well._ Twilight is the first to comply, trying to get up and walk over to Time, but he overestimates how much force it takes to get Four’s body off the ground and stands up so fast he ends up falling over again, tumbling to land face-down in the grass. The tense moment shatters as Wind starts laughing—Legend’s voice downright _giggling_ isn’t something any of them expected, and the surprise of it is enough to make even Time double-take.

“Very funny, gu—” Twilight begins, only to stop halfway through as he registers the sound of his voice.

That sets Wind off again, and the sound of his giggles cracks Hyrule’s composure enough that he laughs too, a brighter laugh than Twilight’s body usually produces. The problems started when they tried to circle up? More like _the problems started when Hyrule’s laugh infected Warriors._ Now the trademark giggles of Wind’s body join the merriment as Warriors starts laughing as well—he can’t even _see_ anything right now, can he? He’s just picked up on the teasing atmosphere. Great.

To make matters worse, the voices in Twilight’s head starts up right on cue.

_Oh my gosh, are you okay?_ The kind one he’s beginning to recognize as Red cries.

Blue comes back just to scoff. _Stop making us look bad._

Then there comes the inevitable argument: _leave him alone, Blue, can’t you tell he’s having a bad day?_

He’s starting to realize that this is their normal. “I’m _fine,”_ Twilight grumbles, just to make them stop talking for a moment so he can process this. His face hurts, but not bad—he’s more flustered than anything.

“No-one said you weren’t. Are you going to get up, or stay there forever?”

That’s Time’s voice. Wild’s? Names are confusing right now, for obvious reasons. … he said that out loud, didn’t he?

He sits up, carefully this time so he doesn’t overbalance again, and looks around. Across the camp, Four in Hyrule’s body is trying and failing to look nonchalant. _He knows something._ Twilight’s eyes narrow. (He ignores the dry _of course he knows something_ from Blue in the back of his mind.) “Four.”

Four looks over slowly, like he hasn’t been staring the whole time. “Yes?” he asks. Hyrule’s voice wavers, a sign of nerves.

_“Why are there voices in my head?”_

Four shrugs. Twilight’s eyes narrow until he can barely see. _As if he wasn’t guilty from day one, the gremlin._

“I don’t know, are you sure you haven’t lost your mind?” Four asks.

_“They specifically said they live in your head.”_ (Twilight is ignoring how insane that sentence makes him sound; ignoring the stares of the other Links.)

“Look, Twi, I don’t know what you want me to say. This really sounds like a you problem.”

What. _What._ That absolute _gremlin!_ For a moment Twilight is still, frozen in place. Then, _“Four!”_

Time gives a pointed cough. “How about we all settle down for a moment, hmm? Sit down Twilight, you can harass Four later.”

Four slumps where he sits, relief obvious on his face, until the last sentence, whereupon he resumes looking nervous. Twilight grinds his teeth in frustration as Blue’s laughter intensifies.

“And didn’t I say circle up? I have eyes; I can see Twilight is the only one who moved,” Time chides.

Wind scoffs. It sounds remarkably natural in Legend’s voice. “You have _eyes_ but you’re only using _one of them!”_

“And?”

Time sounds entirely too relaxed for this situation. Twilight can’t understand how he’s so _calm_ when he himself is about to lose his mind because his body is _wrong_ and it’s too _familiar_ and he keeps waiting for a biting voice to mock him for falling on his face with a drawl that says _you’re my favorite idiot_.

“Why not use both eyes?! You can see _twice as well_ that way!”

Time laughs. “Habit, I suppose.”

Every calm word, interspersed with Wind yelling in Legend’s voice, grates on Twilight’s nerves, ratcheting the tension in his shoulders up another notch.

_“What is the point of having two eyes if you won’t use them?!”_

“It seems you’ll simply have to cope with that. I don’t think Sky would appreciate me half blinding him, do you?”

Sky yelps in the background. “Please don’t! I like having two eyes!”

“I didn’t mean _blind yourself,_ I meant _open your hecking eye Old Man!”_ Wind surges forward as if he’s going to shake his hand in Time’s face, only to stop and stumble, grimacing. _“Ow.”_

The instant he moves, Legend tries to get to his feet to check on him but trips over Warriors’ too-long limbs and faceplants into the grass. “Don’t overdo it, kid, that potion isn’t perfect,” he says without trying to get up, voice muffled by the ground.

“Overdo what, Legend? What potion?” Time asks, suddenly serious in a way that contrasts how laid-back he had been before. Oddly, the idea that Time is finally treating the situation with some of the weight it deserves settles some of the panic knotting in Twilight’s chest.

“Oh, you know, chronic pain. Body’s wrecked and all that. The potion is a painkiller. I don’t have many, so I save them for bad days, but he sounded like he needed one.” Legend still hasn’t gotten up. The grass does nothing to soften the dry faux cheer in his voice.

“Did you fall on _my_ face, Legend?!” Warriors demands. “Get up!”

Twilight turns to face him, a scolding remark regarding priorities on the tip of his tongue, when he sees Warriors’ expression. Even covering his eyes, Wind’s face is an open book—he’s trying to change the subject. To give Legend an out if he doesn’t want to talk right now.

“No thanks,” Legend drawls, “I’m perfectly comfortable here.”

Wait. Warriors is covering his eyes. _Why_ is he covering his eyes? Is he hurt? The tension is back, growing again, as Twilight realizes _one of his pack might be hurt and their pack leader isn’t acknowledging it._ He doesn’t even get a chance to bring it up—maybe Time just hasn’t noticed, too distracted by bantering with Wind, as unlikely as that is—because Time coughs in that way that means he’s trying to get everyone’s attention. The sound is oddly discomforting in Sky’s voice.

“I think we’re getting sidetracked, boys. Get over here, won’t you? And someone pick Legend up if he’s not going to get up on his own.”

Before Legend can reply, Wild (whose wide smile is _very_ disconcerting on Time’s face, for the record) stoops and picks him up, sliding an arm under his stomach and just tossing him over his shoulder, cheerfully ignoring his protests. Then he grabs Warriors for good measure, taking hold of the back of Wind’s tunic, and carries them both over to Time. If he’s unusually gentle when he sets them down in the grass, no-one comments on it.

“Here ya go, special delivery!” Wild chirps. (Twilight is _never_ going to forget this experience.) “Anyone else need a lift, or are you getting over here on your own?”

Unsurprisingly, there’s a general rush on the part of the other Links to get over to the slowly forming circle before Wild decides they need to be carried. Wild, for his part, is happy enough to watch the stumbling, tripping Heroes try to make it fifteen feet without falling on their faces.

“Thank you, Wild, you’ve been very helpful,” Time says mildly, once the Links are arranged in a rough circle. Wild grins in response and takes a seat himself.

“So,” Time begins, once everyone is settled and quiet. “We’ve all switched bodies. Somehow. In the absence of any ideas as to how—” here he breaks off to _stare_ at three different Links who all try to jump in with suggestions, “—perhaps we could focus on what to do _next.”_

Wild raises his hand, looking like nothing so much as a child in a classroom, complete with wiggling excitedly in place. Time raises an eyebrow but agreeably points to him. “Yes, Wild?”

“I know someone who might be able to fix this! She’s really good with magic ~~especially soul magic don’t ask questions~~ and she almost never tells me no, so she’ll probably help us if she can!” Then Wild hesitates. “And we’ll probably need to talk to her about Sky anyway, so really we might as well visit her.”

Time stops, serious again, and Twilight breathes a little easier. Even if he knows the levity will return, knowing Time will treat the matter with concern when needed calms some of the desperation in the back of his mind. The voices, Four’s voices, chatter on in the back of his head. He thinks one or two of them are trying to reassure him but they’re talking over each other and he can’t make out the words.

“Why do we need to talk about Sky?”

“Uh…”

“Wild. _Why do we need to talk about Sky?”_

Wild rubs at the back of his neck, leaning away and avoiding eye contact. Time leans over sideways to meet Wild’s gaze, and the chaotic boy closes his _left_ eye as well.

“Wild, if this is important, you need to tell us. It’s not fair to Sky to drop information like that and not explain it. Look at him, he’s stressing.”

Wild turns around and opens his left eye again, clearly looking for Sky’s reaction, and the way he slumps suggests Time is right. Twilight can’t see the stress himself, but Sky is in Wild’s body—if anyone would know the subtle tells it would be Wild himself.

“I, uh… I might be kind of cursed?”

The first thought in Twilight’s head is _join the club._ Someone snorts in the back of his brain, and he shakes it away. The usually carefree hero actually sounds a little upset beneath all the sheepishness. There’s a long moment of quiet, then Sky just groans. No words, just a long _uuughh_ that might, maybe, have a _why_ in there if you squint. Twilight thinks that’s fair, to be honest.

“The lady I mentioned keeps offering to tamper with my curse and mute most of the effects. I never let her, because it was my bargain and my price, but it was _my_ bargain. It’s not fair to trap Sky with the consequences of my actions, so we need to see if she can muffle the curse until we swap back.”

All this talk about bargains and prices and curses isn’t ominous in the slightest, Twilight thinks. Of course not. It’s not like the universe is subtly foreshadowing a significant hurdle they’ll have to jump in the near future.

“This is all very touching and/or concerning, insert adjective of your choice here, but can we address the fact that I can’t _see?”_ Legend cuts in.

Warriors huffs. The sound is smaller and more adorable than it should be, entirely because it’s in Wind’s voice, accompanied by a pouting voice and crossed arms. The wolf in Twilight wants to curl around him and nuzzle his cheek until he stops sulking, and Twilight tells it, in no uncertain terms, to shut up. Red starts gushing and Blue starts laughing, and he tells _them_ to shut up, too.

“I told you that’s because _science!”_

“Science doesn’t explain why I can tell something’s moving even when my _eyes don’t work!”_

“Yes it _does,_ you’re just not _listening!”_

Wind, sitting between Legend and Warriors to keep the peace, smacks them both on the head. “Cut it out! Can’t you just talk without yelling?” Then, a moment later, “Warriors, if you strain my voice, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Okay, fine, calm down!” Warriors lifts his chin and stares out at the circle with closed eyes. “Everyone in my Hyrule is blind, eyes are for losers. Besides, you can sense just fine, you just said so, so quit whining.”

Time doesn’t look impressed. “I’m sorry, Warriors, did you just say you’ve been blind this entire time?” His voice is entirely too calm, but not the lazy, laid-back calm from earlier. This is the calm of the phrase _still waters run deep,_ and promises a _stinging_ lecture if Warriors answers incorrectly.

Ah, crap. Warriors _hates_ it when Authority Figures do the calm voice. Why did it have to be the _calm voice?_

“Come on, Old Man, it’s not like you’re thinking. I can’t _see,_ sure, but I could sense just fine. Have I had any trouble navigating so far? Haven’t I been confident in my steps? Have I ever looked unsure about where I’m putting my feet?”

Don’t they believe in him? Haven’t they seen him move on steady feet, catch things thrown his way (even if he’s not facing that direction, take _that_ people who depend on eyes), fight with confidence and skill? Hasn’t he walked with them, lived with them, _defended them_ long enough for them to realize he is competent and capable?

Maybe they don’t, he realizes, the thought poisonous and sickly bittersweet on the back of his tongue. Maybe they never have.

“Alright, that’s a fair point,” Time says, and the rip-current of relief knocks the breath from Warriors’ lungs. “Is that why you have your eyes closed? You’re not used to sight?”

_“Exactly,”_ Warriors grumbles, shivering. “I opened my eyes _once_ and I’m not doing that again if I have any say.”

“You might have to,” Hyrule says, and all at once Warriors remembers he’s not just talking to Time. He has an _audience._ “You can’t sense anymore, right? So you’ll need vision to be able to navigate.”

_“No!”_

The word bursts from his chest loud and sharp, tinged with something that is undeniably _fear._ When he opened his ~~Wind’s~~ eyes, it _hurt._ Everything was too bright and too sharp, too much motion and too much color and just _too much._ He can’t do it again. He _won’t._ ~~And accepting vision means also accepting that he cannot sense shape or motion, that his usual way of navigating the world is lost to him.~~

Then he realizes just what he said, and how he said it, and he can feel his cheeks burn as hot blood rushes to his face. “I mean—I mean no, not yet, that was _really uncomfortable_ and now that we’re talking about it, I’m covering my eyes again so I don’t open them by accident.”

He slaps his hands back over his eyes ~~not his hands, not his eyes~~ with enough force to be audible. It stings, but his face hurts less than his heart. He had to act so childishly? Right after he got them to admit he was capable? He’s probably undone all the progress he just made, he’s so _stupid_ sometimes—

Eight Links trade looks, trying to figure out how to comfort the clearly distressed Warriors. For a moment, everyone is helpless. Then his shoulders start to shake, just a little, and they realize he’s trying not to cry. Something in Four snaps, and he doesn’t need his Colors to prod him into action. “Twi, give me my headband,” he demands, getting up and taking care not to trip over Hyrule’s too-long legs.

“What?”

“Just give me my headband!” he says again. When Twilight doesn’t respond fast enough, he leans over and unties his own headband from his own head and tries not to think about how weird that is. When he has the strip of green fabric in hand he stumbles over to Warriors.

“Hey, Wars, move your hands,” Four prompts.

“No!” Warriors replies. His voice is thick, and he can’t hold back a tiny sniffle.

The sound makes Four’s chest _ache_ in a way it hasn’t since the day he shattered. “I can’t make you a blindfold if you don’t move your hands,” he chides, as gentle as he can. Warriors makes a tiny, confused sound and his muscles relax enough in surprise that Four can nudge his hands out of the way. His closed eyes are uncovered for less than a second before Four puts the headband across his face and ties it behind his head.

“There you go,” Four says, “now you can have your hands back without worrying.”

For a moment, everything is still. Then Warriors spins around, almost losing his balance, and hugs Four as tight as he can. “Thanks, Four,” he whispers into Hyrule’s shoulder.

Twilight abruptly sits up perfectly straight, alarm painted on Four’s own borrowed face, looking for all the world like a terrifying idea just occurred to him.

“Hyrule,” he says, slow and somehow distant, as if his mind isn’t entirely present, and leans forward with the same gravity in his movement. “There’s something of mine I need, if you don’t mind.”

Hyrule agrees without hesitation. “Uh, sure, what is it?”

Four doesn’t blame him for being alarmed; heck, _he’s_ alarmed and he’s not even involved in this. If Hyrule is half as nervous as he is, Four is genuinely surprised his voice is so steady.

“I’ll get it. Try not to move too much.”

“Okay, but really, what is it? And should I be this alarmed?”

“Hmm? It’s a necklace. Don’t panic. But _don’t move.”_

“I think I can only do one of those right now Twi _which one is more important.”_

Twilight sighs. He really isn’t trying too hard be reassuring, is he, Four muses. He must be really rattled, he’s usually more mindful than this.

“Between the two? Don’t move. Try to panic quietly, please.”

By this point, Twilight has made it to Hyrule’s side. Twilight’s body is practically vibrating as Hyrule tries to stay perfectly still—Four can see him shaking from here. The rest of them sit just as still as Twilight reaches out with one hand and finds the string of the necklace around his own neck, pulling at it with obvious care as he removes a small, jagged stone pendant from between the layers of his tunics.

In hindsight, the problem starts with how nervous Hyrule is. The poor kid _jumps_ in fright when Twilight’s ~~Four’s~~ hand brushes against his ~~Twilight’s~~ neck. The motion is enough to make Twilight lose his grip on the string.

Four watches the stone wall in slow motion. Twilight tries to reach for it, but he’s not fast enough to catch it.

What happens if it touches Hyrule? That part wasn’t explained. It can’t be terribly dangerous if Twilight willingly wears it around his neck but the way he’s _acting_ suggests otherwise.

The stone lands on Hyrule’s hand, by some cruel coincidence. He doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move. It just lands on his hand.

And then there’s a _******* **opossum.**_

****

“Twilight what the heck,” Wind says. Somewhere in the background, Legend and Warriors simultaneously demand to know what’s going on, then realize they agreed on something and start bickering.

Hyrule, understandably distressed by this point, starts screeching at the top of his tiny lungs. This has the positive effect of _immediately_ silencing Legend and Warriors, who turn at once towards the sound despite neither one being able to see, and the distinctly _less_ positive effect of being incredibly loud and stressful. Twilight is fairly certain _he_ wasn’t this loud when _he_ was transformed against his will.

“Please calm down,” Twilight says with a sigh.

Hyrule doesn’t calm down. He also doesn’t stop screeching.

Twilight decides enough is enough and picks up the screeching creature Hyrule has become. (He doesn’t account for his small size; he must look like a child with an oversized plush toy.) Hyrule is startled into silence for exactly half a second before he starts screeching again.

Twilight ignores literally everything happening around him in favor of marching up to Time, who looks entirely too amused, holding out his hand, and demanding, “Sword.”

“Hm?”

_“Sword.”_

“If you’re going to stab him to make him stop screaming, I’m going to have to say no.”

Predictably, Hyrule starts screeching _louder._ It’s so nice to know they have such little faith in his ability to _not stab his family._ “Stop screaming, no-one is getting stabbed. Touching the Master Sword undoes the transformation.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in, but as it does the screeching comes to an abrupt halt. Twilight sighs in relief, but he only gets to relax for a moment.

_“Did you stab my—I mean, did you stab Hyrule?!”_ Legend demands from across the circle.

“No!” Twilight yells in response, utterly fed up with this nonsense. (The cackling in the back of his brain isn’t helping.) _He_ was _much_ calmer than this!

A little voice in the back of his head, that actually sounds like his voice this time, say he wasn’t. Not really.

He ignores it.

“No-one got stabbed!”

Hyrule makes a single, relatively quiet _scree_ in reassurance. Legend believes that much more easily than he believed Twilight. Twilight tries to pretend that doesn’t sting.

Finally, there’s quiet.

“Please just put the sword on the ground so Hyrule can touch it and stop being… whatever screaming creature this is.”

Time laughs. It’s not a little chuckle or a single half-hearted snicker. Time _laughs._ Everyone stops. They’ve never heard Time laugh like this before. Time doesn’t stop laughing, even in the silence, even with everyone looking at him. He doesn’t look like he _can_ stop, laughing until he loses his balance and falls, flopping back in the grass. He still doesn’t stop laughing, breathless and relaxed and unrestrained in a way Twilight knows he will never forget.

The old man is so serious, so often. Twilight wonders why, but it’s not his place to ask. Either way, he’s glad to see his ancestor so happy for once. (Even if it stings he still doesn’t know what absolute mirth would sound like in Time’s voice, what unbridled amusement would look like on Time’s face.)

Eventually Time gets his laughter under control, sitting up again a little breathless but none the worse for wear. “You boys…” he trails off. “You boys are something else, you know?”

Hyrule makes a tiny, questioning _scree?_ It’s the quietest one yet, and as such Twilight finds it more adorable than annoying.

Time scrubs at his face, wiping away tears of mirth, and draws the Master Sword, laying it in the grass. “There you go, boys.”

_“Thank you.”_ Twilight is _done_ with this. _All of this._ He sets Hyrule down—gently, despite his frustration, he’s not _cruel—_ and points towards the sword. “Just touch the Master Sword and you’ll be yourself again.”

“You mean he’ll be _you_ again?” Wind asks.

Twilight rubs his eyes and just points to the sword more emphatically, making a pointed effort not to think about that exact truth.

Hyrule waddles over to the sword and presses one paw to its hilt. There’s a flash of light (personally Twilight thinks the light doesn’t actually exist, but rather the viewer’s mind fills in something to cover that which must not be seen and cannot be comprehended) and Hyrule is no longer a four-legged screeching rat thing. After a moment he looks up at Twilight, a surprisingly contemplative look on his face.

“You know,” he says, “except for the freaking-out thing and the not-understanding thing that was kind of fun.”

Twilight has never moved faster than when he snatches his curse stone from Hyrule.

_“What is happening?!”_ Legend demands. Warriors is so confused and disoriented he doesn’t hesitate to chime in and back him up.

Twilight isn’t in any condition to answer, however, as in his haste he hadn’t bothered to make sure he was grabbing his necklace by the _string._

Instead of a vertically challenged Hylian, he is now a vertically challenged wolf. The universe doesn’t even have the dignity to let him be his usual grey—no, he’s positively _rainbow-colored._ His fur, from what he can see as he tilts his head, is random patches of red, blue, green, and purple. He tilts far enough trying to see his fur that he loses his balance and falls over.

Utterly fed up with everything, he slams a paw down on the Master Sword and grabs his necklace—by the string, this time—and shoves it in his pocket.

“Uh, Twi, do you wanna talk—”

_“NO.”_

Twilight stomps over to Wild. The _last_ thing he wants to do right now is talk.

“You said you wanted to visit someone, Wild?” Twilight asks, maybe a little more aggressive than he needs to be. _“Then let’s go visit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, y'all, chapter two of bodyswap shenanigans. As promised, I replaced the "probably humor" tag with the "humor" tag. (whoops that took a while to edit.)
> 
> *screes in victory*


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